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Thorvale April 23 Wednesday DM Your letter to Santa Barbara did finally backtrack to me; I have the picture of Mike and you -- you are much better-looking than that -- and I return Mike's article, which is not merely amusing but stirs the imagination by suggesting somehow a real approach to that hitherto astoundingly clumsy department of psychology called Criticism. The place is lovely -- the work that Chet, Stan & Co. have done while I have been away has been marvelous. Your room now has, I think, exactly the shade of gray you wanted on the walls -- gone, gone that washed-out red; the walls match now the new bed and the carpet that was in the living-room, and set off the gay new yellow curtains I got in Troy and the new blue chair that replaces, mit footstool the chaise lounge. The kitchen is now as modern as existentialism, in yellow and dark red, with new automatic dish-washer; the servts’ [servants] sitting-room comfortable; the coat room, red and white with black linoleum, frivolous instead of dreary, ditto lavatory; the garage front handsomely painted; and the new carpet and couch in the living-room even more than what we wanted -- bring the whole room to life. You'll be very excited when you see it all. Next, we get part of the cottage into shape, so that some long-staying guest could have a suite there and come to the Big House for meals. Already there's electric lights and furnace and radiators in, and whole beautifully cleaned during winter by Bill Perkins, caretaker. Oh, I don't know but that even more Parthenoniah than the orange couch and creamy lv [living] r[oo]m carpet is the basement -- that for-thirty-years filthy dump is now shiny and clean, with fireproof ceiling, and huge oil furnace purring. The furnace says it wants to see you. Everything misses you. The Pease House, which was so lonely in the deep snow all winter but got through it expecting to see you in the spring, cried with disappointment. The play house with its new gay yellow blinds misses you. The swimming pool misses you. The new terrace misses you and can see no reason for becoming warm for sun-bathing. Particularly William, now grown a serious but amiable cat, with a sense of public responsibility, misses you, and twice I have seen him go up to your room to look for you.... he wonders so.

Thorvale April 23 Wednesday DM Your letter to Santa Barbara did finally backtrack to me; I have the picture of Mike and you -- you are much better-looking than that -- and I return Mike's article, which is not merely amusing but stirs the imagination by suggesting somehow a real approach to that hitherto astoundingly clumsy department of psychology called Criticism. The place is lovely -- the work that Chet, Stan & Co. have done while I have been away has been marvelous. Your room now has, I think, exactly the shade of gray you wanted on the walls -- gone, gone that washed-out red; the walls match now the new bed and the carpet that was in the living-room, and set off the gay new yellow curtains I got in Troy and the new blue chair that replaces, mit footstool the chaise lounge. The kitchen is now as modern as existentialism, in yellow and dark red, with new automatic dish-washer; the servts’ [servants] sitting-room comfortable; the coat room, red and white with black linoleum, frivolous instead of dreary, ditto lavatory; the garage front handsomely painted; and the new carpet and couch in the living-room even more than what we wanted -- bring the whole room to life. You'll be very excited when you see it all. Next, we get part of the cottage into shape, so that some long-staying guest could have a suite there and come to the Big House for meals. Already there's electric lights and furnace and radiators in, and whole beautifully cleaned during winter by Bill Perkins, caretaker. Oh, I don't know but that even more Parthenoniah than the orange couch and creamy lv [living] r[oo]m carpet is the basement -- that for-thirty-years filthy dump is now shiny and clean, with fireproof ceiling, and huge oil furnace purring. The furnace says it wants to see you. Everything misses you. The Pease House, which was so lonely in the deep snow all winter but got through it expecting to see you in the spring, cried with disappointment. The play house with its new gay yellow blinds misses you. The swimming pool misses you. The new terrace misses you and can see no reason for becoming warm for sun-bathing. Particularly William, now grown a serious but amiable cat, with a sense of public responsibility, misses you, and twice I have seen him go up to your room to look for you.... he wonders so.